


Transubstantiation

by athousandwinds



Category: Brideshead Revisited - Waugh
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandwinds/pseuds/athousandwinds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transubstantiation

The first time I ever relaxed my guard enough to get drunk with Sebastian – that is to say, not the first time I drank with him, nor the first time he got drunk with me – was some weeks after we met. He was already three sheets to the wind before we left our college, but the club he took me to was so exclusive that one had to be not only of a certain college, but of a certain school tie and to have worn the colours for at least one term. I filled none of these particulars, but Sebastian claimed to have played cricket for the Third XI one glorious summer and when he stood straight and fair and looked one clear in the eye, it was nearly plausible.

I was to be glad that the club was exclusive, for exclusive, at least in those days, meant discreet, too. Sebastian grew steadily more affectionate as the evening drifted on, as he often did, though our horseplay usually went unmarked. We shared an armchair, or, more accurately, he draped himself in the armchair while I leant over the side like a favoured acolyte. As the hours whiled by, I leant closer and closer, heavy with drunkenness and tilting like the Pisan tower, until finally I collapsed on top of him.

Sebastian laughed himself sick, undisturbed by the sudden introduction of the middle classes into his lap.

"Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?" he asked, and this is how I know he was truly intoxicated, aping his inferiors and being blasphemous about it, too. I stiffened a little, glancing round at the other members, but they were far too well-bred to notice. Sebastian dipped his fingers in his fifth or sixth glass of Chateau Lafite and reached up to my mouth, painting my bottom lip red. Because I was one over the eight myself, and young and stupid besides, I licked his fingers clean with my eyes fixed on his.

It was my job, before then – and after then – to stop Sebastian from doing reckless things, but I failed in my self-imposed duty that night. Sebastian shoved me off his lap easily enough, but then he stood, wavering on his feet, and offered me his hand up. We walked back to the college in silence, concentrating on not stumbling over ourselves. I could feel him against me, for he leant hard on my shoulder with his face buried in my neck. His breath tickled my ear and I found it difficult to exhale. Native cunning got us back to my rooms without encountering the porters, with only one near miss that made Sebastian tighten his grip on my arm and nuzzle my throat.

My rooms were blessedly quiet after that, and Sebastian slid onto my bed with a sigh. He was already undoing his shirt-buttons, in the languid, smirking way he had soused or sober. I wanted almost to protest, for I was not at all sure, in my state, how to progress. But Sebastian stretched out his arm and dropped his shirt on the floor and started on his trousers; unwilling to seem a naïf, I followed suit. He was already squirming out of his shorts with one hand, the other rubbing his prick.

I managed to strip myself of my undershirt before Sebastian finally grew impatient and pulled me down onto the bed; not to kiss, but to lick and suck and bite at my chest. It hurt, but my prick ached harder, twitching against my cotton underwear. Sebastian was pinching me and twisting; he thought it amusing to make me whimper. I began to kiss my way down his shoulder, but a painful lick of Sebastian's tongue against my tortured nipple made me bite down viciously on the soft flesh of his throat. I was not expecting him to moan like he did, nor for him to thrust powerfully against my thigh, rutting like an animal and leaving a trail behind, silver on my skin in the half-light. He calmed down after a moment, but he pushed me off the bed.

On my knees like a whore, I sucked his prick as best I could when his fingers were fierce in my hair, forcing me to swallow him down. I could hear him gasping, snatches of prayer, which annoyed me, and wordless whimpering, which didn't, which made me reach down and rub myself through my shorts. Sebastian begged for mercy from the ceiling and gave me none, thrusting his prick in more and more brutally each time, until he hit the back of my throat and I gagged on it, clutching at his beautiful thighs for balance and leaving finger-shaped bruises. I know, for I saw them the next night, and the night after that.

He came with a cry so loud and shameless that I couldn't think even before I choked, his semen spilling out of my mouth. I spat on the carpet, but the taste lingered. I can still taste it now. He lay back on the bed, panting and flushed, the sweat glowing on his forehead. Throughout all this, even at the worst moment I had been squeezing my prick and the sight of Sebastian, his legs spread and his lips parted and his face for a whole heartbeat blissful, this utterly undid me and my underwear was stained and sticky.

Sebastian left not above half an hour later, so as to be found in his own bed when the porters ordered us to show a leg, and I was left to clean up the mess we'd made. The next morning, I passed Anthony Blanche in the hallway near Sebastian's rooms and he smiled at me with pity, as if to tell me that I was neither the first nor the last. But I was young and stupid and still intoxicated, so I ignored him.


End file.
